In Just A Moment

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Thank you for joining me.You breathe life into this space and into this series. Your presence here is a tremendous gift.
Today is Day 4. To catch up and read the series in its enirety, click here or click the tab at the top of this home page marked #write31days2014-Postcards From Me, elizabeth w. marshall
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In Just A Moment

The earth will tilt and lean
Press her face against the foggy
Glass
Look at us
As we at her
We play a game of stare
Poker faced, straining
To not  look away and miss
The micro moments
She presents

What if every moment
That we see
Capture with our glassy pupiled lens
Was meant to savor
Fragrant earthen soil
And well-lit canvases
She lends

To gather up the
Remember when’s
In just a moment

She will tilt again
Continue
On her race around the galaxy

Each moment that she gives to me
In fractured minutes as I blink
To tuck into my memory folds
Filled with all the grainy, dull and fading
Remember whens
But
I will still say

I remember when
The sun rained down on the precipice of stone-grey rocks
Magnificent
And magnified by a gurgling
Rushing mountain stream
That perfect October day
Destined to meet
The beauty of the earth and I
For I was there
Gifted
With a front row seat

And in just a moment

We were gone
Fragile is life’s middle name
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Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturday

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A Thousand Hands Have Passed By Here

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A Thousand Hands Have Passed By Here

Maybe hundreds more
But
There was no one there to count

A well-worn wooden handrail
Documents for us

But she will not give up secrets
Of all the living that has come by here
The hurried ones
Tiny pink bare feet
Scampering off to bed
To dream under a mountain quilt, tucked
Under
Crisp cool sheets
As trains go up and down
The mountain tracks
Singing them to sleep

The tired ones who will wake
Before the sun and putter down
The stairs, running wrinkled fingers
Along the smooth and weary rail
Worn by love and life and time
Holding up the aged, the weak and frail

Guardian of more than
One Hundred years of living
Well-traveled
Quiet story-keeper 
Stairwell of this
Old home

Perhaps the next hand, left
Or right from generations
Coming up and down 
Traveling through this  place
Will be a hand of healing
Offering
Sacred grace

Pray blessing and forgiveness
Over those who’ll come here too

Perhaps
There will be a thousand more
Hands traveling down the rail
Bearing witness to 
Humility and redeeming love
For generations still to come

For scores and scores of lifetimes
More
May scamper up to bed
Up, then down, down then up
Living, loving,
In this family place

A thousand hands have passed by here

So
Walk quiet now
Soft and slow and reverently
So
You may hear the tales
Echo in the halls
Wisdom from sojourners
Who came by here before
Pass on stories of
Their living
Loving strong and hard
For years and years

Within these pine-board walls

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Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturday

Color Me: Weekend Poetry

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Color Me

The color of mercy, royal aubergines and plum
Whimsy, fuchsia, lime and auburn
Reds, fiery wild and burning free
Navy, calm and self-assured

And when the last color is pulled from the box
An attempt to shade and cover-up
To re-make what is simply there
Erase it all and start again
Wipe it void and color-free
White, make me white
And free from pain and sin
Make me new
This Lent
Prepare my soul to meet The Christ,
The Empty Tomb, The Cross

Color me new
Color me anything but me

Prepare me
Easter new

And then send me out to color wild and free again
Outside the lines
Of timidity and fear, constrained and shackled
Held by death and sin
Send me out free
To make art and serve
Spilling forth Hallelujahs
In turquoise, rose and marigold
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Joining Sandy and Deidra for her Sunday Community